


dream in a dream

by florulentae



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Canon Compliant, Dreamscapes, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florulentae/pseuds/florulentae
Summary: Before Ten is Ten, NCT’s Ten, WayV's Ten, Ten the dancer—Ten is his mother’s son.He is a Leechaiyapornkul.He is a dreamer.





	dream in a dream

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I accidentally published the draft I had for this fic before formatting the text in *clown noises* . Anyways! This was very vaguely inspired by Ronan, a character from The Raven Cycle. I haven’t read the books in _years_ but snooping around on twitter like a month ago I found [this](https://twitter.com/trc_bot/status/1074547959084265473) tweet and here we are! 
> 
> This is set during the time when Kun and Ten were roommates—I really can’t find the interview in which they mentioned that, but I know it’s out there somewhere. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Juji and Steph, for the cheerleading and love; a special thank you to Emi, for betaing and for just being awesome ♡

The dark engulfs Ten so intensely that he wonders if, for once, he's going to experience one of those rare nights when his sleep is a comfortable and easy _rest_. He’s weightless, floating, comfortable for a single moment—suspended in time and space.

Then comes the light.

It's blinding in its force and there’s nowhere to find any cover, any protection from it. It’s all he can do to shut his eyes tightly and wait for it to pass—if it ever will. There's nothing around him, nothing he can feel or touch, nothing but the bare ground; the rich soil feels wet to the touch and grass brushes gently against his bare feet.

It feels like a revelation.

And Ten—Ten is scared to open his eyes.

No matter how many times he’s done this, how many different ways he's been thrown into this, the anxiety over what he will see upon opening his eyes curls and moves inside his belly like a snake.

Time passes, somewhere between a second and eternity, and the drumming beat of his heart slows down—until he first hears a bird chirp, and another one answer. A chorus of birds starts to sing in strange harmony. The noise should be overpowering, should make his ears feel like they’re bleeding—but it sounds strangely beautiful.

He counts to five once, counts again, and then opens one eye.

He’s alone but he doesn’t feel alone: not with the larger than life trees surrounding the otherwise undisturbed clearing he sits in; not with the birds and their never ending song; not with the flowers of all shapes and sizes and colors covering every surface, climbing over the trees and the ground.

A clump of yellow flowers growing under a tree a few feet away catches his eye. They glow despite the shade the leaves cast.

Ten stands up, fascinated, and walks towards them. The soil is wet under his bare feet, perfect for all these beautiful things to grow—but especially for those flowers. He kneels down in front of them, unconcerned with the earth staining his white pants, and reaches out to touch one of them reverently.

The petals feel like silk against his fingers and he’s careful when he touches them, loathe to taint their beauty. He stays there for quite some time, fascinated, enjoying the way the birds have quieted down—all but one, who continues that oddly beautiful song.

A murmur grows. It starts low, a single voice, and at first Ten feels he might be imagining things but it grows and grows in volume. Slowly, Ten realizes that the voice comes from the flowers. They whisper something that sounds like _take us_ , somewhere in-between all of the languages he knows.

He pulls his hand away, startled, and holds them against his chest, waiting for the noise to die down. It only grows in volume, multiplying in quantity, and they are pleading, _begging_ for him to grab a fistful of them, to keep them close to him for as long as they live.

So he does just that, closing his eyes once he feels the stems give out and the roots get pulled along. Ten cradles his handful of flowers right against his heart like they asked him to and hears the noise give out, clearing the air for the unseen bird to go on singing that unknown song.

Ten awakens with a start, curled up on himself and holding a handful of beautiful vibrant—almost neon—yellow flowers tightly in his left hand, right over his heart; flowers he’s sure don’t exist anywhere else but in his dream.

* * *

The flowers end up on top of his bedside table, right next to his favorite candle.

It’s a week before he notices that they’re still fresh, just as bright as the moment he pulled them from the forest—not a single petal out of place despite the lack of vase and water.

Just like they promised him.

* * *

Before Ten is Ten, NCT’s Ten, WayV's Ten, Ten the dancer—Ten is his mother’s son.

He is a Leechaiyapornkul.

He is a dreamer.

Like his mother, and his grandfather, and his great grandfather before him.

There’s no distance large enough to put between himself and his first _home_ to deny the fundamental composition of his being.

* * *

_Xuxi might pretend to be a little slow to catch onto things, but he’s keenly aware of_ everything _that goes around him_ , Ten thinks, ignoring the way Xuxi smiles and raises an eyebrow at him, thankfully not saying anything as Renjun drags him into his room.

The living room, full just a few minutes ago (it was movie night, and Kun had _cooked_ , so there was no way anyone in the dorm was missing it), is now empty save Kun and himself. A couple hours ago, Kun’s eyes had sparkled in the light from the TV screen when he patted his lap said, _Get comfortable,_ and _I promised hot pot in exchange for us getting the couch_ in a soft voice, giggling when Renjun and Jisung shushed him in unison. And so that how Ten finds himself with his head in Kun’s lap—the same position he was in for most of the duration of the movie.

Ten knows something is going on between them. He is neither _that_ emotionally stupid or constipated _nor_ that comfortable in allowing denial to weigh him down to the point of helplessness. He’s done that once before, what feels like an eternity ago when he first realized he wanted to kiss that boy in his dance class, and he’s _not_ looking for a repeat of that.

Even though Ten knows that there’s _something_ , he doesn’t have a clue of _what_ it is other than the fact that it's comfortable, that it feels easier than breathing.

“I don’t think I caught half of the plot,” Ten says, attempting to stand up and cackling when Kun makes a noise of complaint and tries his best not to let Ten move. “I’m just gonna turn on a light, you loser—let me up,” he teases, laughing as he stumbles to his feet.

“That’s what happens when we let Jungwoo pick the movie,” Kun replies, waiting for the soft light of the nearby lamp to turn on, for Ten’s head back on top of his thighs.

Kun’s fingers gently press into Ten’s scalp, combing through his hair carefully. Ten closes his eyes, humming in content.

A comfortable silence settles over them. Ten opens his eyes and peers up at Kun’s face and the smile on the other’s face makes _him_ smile too. “Should we make tea or something?” Ten asks. He doesn’t want to move, not really, but he also doesn’t want to stop being with Kun right now—and tea is the perfect excuse.

“Later,” Kun says dismissively, his hands continuing to play with Ten’s hair. He starts to tell Ten how Chenle’s mother seems to have taken a liking to him and what happened the last time he went over to her house in Korea.

Ten is content to listen to him talk, to watch the way the light catches on his face and makes Kun look golden. Content to let his heart feel as full as it does.

* * *

The first thing he senses upon opening his eyes is the sound of a thunderstorm approaching as he stands in the middle of an uncomfortably dry field.

For the first time in a while, he doesn’t seem to be alone.

He hears him before he sees him; a joyful giggle, and then a kid with chocolate colored hair, all dressed up in a cute jean overall and soft yellow shirt underneath, stands in front of him. His tiny hands hold something with all the care he can muster. He’s smiling at Ten, and really, all Ten can do is smile back.

The kid inspires a softness in Ten that he reserves for those closest to his heart. It’s confusing but not unwelcome.

“Well, _hello_ there,” Ten says, smiling at the kid. The boy parrots back a polite, yet excited, hello back to him. “What’s that?” Ten asks, fond, once the kid steps closer, shortening the distance between them. Now that he’s closer, Ten can see that it’s made of wood, and the marks on it seem to have their own light.

“It’s a gift!” the kid answers cheerfully, holding the wooden box—no larger than a paperback book—towards him. He looks thrilled to be giving this to Ten.

“For me?” Ten inquires, amazed, pulling his hands towards himself as he crouches down to meet the kid’s eyes.

“For you,” the kid replies with a toothy smile, pushing the wooden box towards Ten once again, arms fully stretched out. A voice in the back of his mind that sounds distinctly like his grandfather’s warns, _Don’t take anything from people when you’re in there_.

There’s something about the kid that makes Ten take the box from his hands without hesitation. He holds it carefully in his hands and brings it to eye level.

“It’s beautiful,” Ten breathes, index finger following the intricate patterns carved into the wood. They shimmer despite the lack of sunlight; almost golden, a contradiction to the dark wood of the box. Like there’s something bright at its core. “What is it for?” he asks.

“It’s to keep in what you love, silly,” the kid giggles, eyes bright and crinkled right at the corners. “And then, one day, to let it _all_ out!” he continues, gesturing with open arms towards the grey sky.

Ten thinks of his family, of performing, of the smell of lavender. “How can I keep it all _here_?” he inquires in disbelief.

“Well, it’s not for _all_ of it,” the kid replies, matter-of-fact. He looks at Ten judgmentally. Ten could really do without what looks to be a six year old passing judgement on him for being _confused_ inside his own dream. “Or any of it, for that matter—it’s just a fragment! A representation of it!” He sounds cheerful once again, hopeful that Ten will understand. His smile is back and his full cheeks make him look impossibly cuter.

Ten is stunned into silence, now with more questions than what he started with, ranging from _who are you_ to _how the_ fuck _does a kid talk like that_ to _how am I supposed to know what to keep in here_ and _if I love it why should I let it all out_.

The kid blinks once, twice, three times, smile intact, and waves at Ten with one hand before turning around and starting to walk away.

“Wait! Who are you?” Ten asks, panicked. His feet are stuck to the sepia-colored grass.

The kid turns back and looks at Ten once again, his bushy eyebrows pulled into a frown. Gone is his bright smile, as is the brightness of his eyes—he looks just as confused as Ten feels. “You know me already,” he says, and for a brief moment, his tiny voice is overlapped with one that sounds familiar enough to startle him into consciousness.

Ten keeps his eyes on the ceiling, moves his fingers, his arms to remind himself that he’s here, in the world, the real one, hears his breathing even out. Doesn’t look at what his hand bumped against, knowing without question that it’s the gift from the kid.

* * *

“Ten?” Kun calls out just before yawning, startling the fuck out of the man in question.

“Yeah?” Ten peels his eyes away from the animal documentary he’s been half-watching; it was the first interesting thing that had popped up while he was mindlessly changing the channels.

“Why are you awake?” Kun’s steps are gentle as he approaches, the _we have to be out of the dorm early as fuck_ implied.

“I’ve been having some… weird dreams.” Ten hesitates, thinking about the wooden box hidden under his bed, of the unwithering flowers inside of it. “I couldn’t fall asleep,” he adds. He basks in the warmth that radiates from Kun’s body when he sits right next to him, close enough for Ten to rest his head on his shoulder.

“Poor _baby_ , want me to sing you to sleep?” Kun asks, and his voice is ridden with sleep but he’s also wiggling his eyebrows. Ten files the strange fluttery feeling at the bottom of his stomach at the way Kun calls him _baby_ —in _English_ —for later and ignores the telltale way his ears go red from embarrassment.

“Fuck off,” Ten replies with no real heat, pushing himself away from Kun and smacking his shoulder as a small smile creeps onto his lips. Kun brings Ten closer, keeps his arms around him even when Ten is once again settled on his side, and Ten is too tired to lie about the way his heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest.

“I can put the kettle on.” Kun’s voice is kind but Ten is quick to shake his head in refusal. In the background, the deep voice of the narrator says, _Sea otters hold hands while they are sleeping, so they don't drift apart. Staying together is_ vital _for them._

“Let’s just stay here for a little bit?” Ten asks, tilting his head slightly upwards to look Kun in the eye, perhaps a little selfishly, a little hopefully, instead of telling Kun to go to bed, instead of lying about how he was just about to head there anyways.

“Of course,” Kun replies, smiling kindly before shifting around until he’s more comfortable with Ten resting halfway on top of him.

Hours later, when their manager finds them tangled on the couch and wakes them up, Ten realizes he didn’t dream at all.

* * *

Ten surfaces into his dream with the feeling of breaking out of the water after holding his breath for too long—quite literally, as he is now floating _in_ water, eyes closed as he regains his breath and tries his best to remain calm, to not let the dream startle him into a terror.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been under, or how long he floats, regaining his breath, or how long it takes him to open his eyes, spot the shore, and start paddling towards it. His clothes feel _heavy_ and weigh him down as swims towards the sand.

He reaches the shore and looks around, shading his eyes from the merciless sun with both hands.

He’s completely alone. Nothing alive near him.

Nothing near him but water and sand.

He steps forward, disoriented due by the vast emptiness of the water and the miles and miles of sand, and feels something warm and metallic under his right foot.

He’s completely alone—except for the necklace tangled in the toes of his right foot.

Ten crouches down to carefully unwind the thin chain from his foot and stares, affixed by the red imprints left behind where the links pressed into his skin.

He holds the thin golden chain with his thumbs and index fingers. A star charm dangles in the middle, catching the light as it sways gently. Ten sits down on the wet sand and grabs the charm, covers it with his fingers once before letting it rest against his open palm. He stares at it intently as though it can tell him all of the secrets of the world, as though it will whisper all of his secrets, even the ones he doesn’t know yet.

Falling back against the wet sand, the blazing Sun making his skin uncomfortably warm and the gentle waves lapping against his feet, Ten catches himself thinking about how beautiful the piece of jewelry would look around Kun’s neck, against the soft skin of his chest.

He freezes.

What would he do to press his open palm right in the centre of Kun’s chest, cover the star charm like he’s the Sun itself, unable to make way for the night after feeling Kun’s heart pounding against his hand? The water against his legs stops being gentle but Ten doesn’t have it in him to move—isn’t sure that he actually can.

The forest, the flowers, the wooden box, the water, the necklace—it’s Kun’s.

Him, his heart—it’s Kun’s.

The tide grows, and _grows_ , along with Ten’s desperation to move. The coldness of the water stings against his bare skin and he’s being dragged under, _under_ , the current much too strong to be resisted.

Ten wakes abruptly, sitting up in his bed, agitated, and welcomes the air into his lungs. It takes him more than a moment to realize that in-between his trembling fingers he holds the golden necklace.

With his free hand, he reaches blindly for his phone, dropped somewhere beneath his pillow. The weight of his phone in his hands feels real, necessary, as he presses the home button in hopes of it being early enough for him to make himself something, _anything_ that will drive him into a peaceful sleep—but the harshness of the light from the screen and the _4:17AM_ dash his hopes.

Ten turns to his side carefully, eyes on the bed across the way. The street lights streaming through the window reveal a Kun shaped lump under the heavy blankets. He pushes his own blankets away with his feet, hands busy untangling the chain from his fingers, and holds the charm in his palm for a moment before reaching down for the wooden box. He’s careful not to make a noise as he lets the necklace fall right on top of one of the yellow flowers, careful when he closes it, careful when he tucks it back into its hiding place.

* * *

Before Ten is Ten, NCT’s Ten, WayV's Ten, Ten the dancer, Ten the dreamer—Ten is human.

He hides the wooden box; hides it because he’s _scared,_ and he keeps it close to him even when they start traveling back and forth to China because he’s in _love,_ and he doesn’t know if that’s scarier than the dreams his grandfather warned him about or more thrilling than the first time he set foot on a stage.

* * *

They are back in their room after what feels like forever, exhaustion—but also contentment—clinging to every single cell of Ten’s body. Contentment, so much of it, because he just spent most of his day preparing for his birthday event, and he did it all with Kun’s help, which really was just another gift in and of itself. As far as settings for romantic declarations go, this may not be the best or the most special onem but Ten is desperate. He feels like time is running out, like the bird in his chest will sing that tune from the dream that started it all and Kun won’t understand what it means.

He takes a deep breath and reaches under his bed until he finds the small wooden box once again. He swiftly removes the necklace from its place on top of one of the still thriving yellow flowers and holds onto the charm tightly for a moment before making sure nothing is tangled. Full of determination, he makes his way to Kun’s bed where his dream is sitting on top of the comforter, brow furrowed and tongue peeking out in between his teeth as he types something up on his phone.

Ten clears his throat. Kun looks up, confused for a moment, before gifting Ten with his favorite smile, the tiny one that makes Ten’s heart skip a beat. Kun shuffles a little to the side, making more room for him but also almost saying _stay close_ —and Ten doesn’t hesitate to do so.

“Open your palm,” Ten says, laughing for a second at how quickly Kun’s expression grows skeptical. “It’s a gift,” he adds reassuringly. _Here goes nothing,_ he thinks.

“For me?” Kun asks, intrigued, but he still extends his arm and opens his palm right in front of Ten’s chest.

“For you,” Ten replies, gently placing the necklace on Kun’s palm and nervously watching as his face goes from confusion to curiosity to wonder in the short span of a few seconds.

Kun looks up, looks back down, touches the star charm with the tip of his finger before looking up once again to meet Ten’s eyes. “But my birthday has already passed—” Kun starts, cutting himself off as he sees the blush on Ten’s face. He smiles once again and looks down at the star charm resting in the middle of his palm. “It’s _beautiful_ ,” Kun exhales. Ten feels more embarrassed than he has felt in a long time.

“It’s not much, but, uh—can I put it on you?” Ten struggles with his words, ears bright red, but he shuffles closer until their legs knock against each other. The intensity of Kun’s gaze has the odd effect of simultaneously pinning him in place and making him want to _move_. “It reminded me of you.” _Me. Us. How you make me feel._

Kun nods mutely, giving the necklace back to Ten before turning to the side to allow Ten to reach the back of his neck.

Ten’s hands tremble slightly as he attempts to open the clasp and it takes one, two, three tries until he’s able to do so, until he’s able to gently loop the thin chain around Kun’s neck.

“There,” Ten whispers, tapping the nape of Kun’s neck with his index finger. He lets it rest there for a moment before pulling his hand away, no longer knowing what to do with it.

“ _Ten_ ,” Kun breathes. Ten thinks his name sounds holy on Kun’s lips in this moment. Between one breath and the next he’s close, _so_ close, until Ten is the one feeling stunned. Kun is right _there_ , his hands on his thighs, and his lips looking so red, so inviting, so promising.

 _You know Ten_ , his mother used to say. _He takes and takes and takes. My sweet, greedy little boy_. Sure, she was talking about his penchant for stealing the sweets his grandma always kept in the house for him, but _—_

Ten finds himself thinking that he really hasn’t changed at all as he tentatively places both of his hands on Kun’s cheeks, all but holding his head, and waits for a moment before leaning forward and pressing his lips against Kun’s. He revels in the way the other man seems to melt against him. He takes and takes and _takes_ , greedily saves up the sweetness of Kun’s plush lips, the ease in which they move with his _—_ the firmness of his hands on Ten’s back.

He takes and takes and _takes_ , but as they part for a moment to catch their breath and a shy smile spreads across Kun’s shiny lips, Ten thinks that he could give, give, _give_ everything to Kun.

* * *

“You know, maybe I dreamt you,” Ten says, voice raspy in the early summer morning, the sunlight streaming through the windows tinting his world golden, soft. Beautiful. His index finger gently traces the bridge of Kun’s nose, the softness of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw.

Kun smiles at him and Ten feels momentarily blinded. Like he's staring straight into the sun.

“Thanks for the straight teeth, then,” Kun replies, cheeky, and leans forward to capture Ten’s lips in a kiss that leaves every nerve in his body alight.

In the distance, a bird sings.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/florulentae)


End file.
